


Sommelière D'Lombre

by GuzzleBlood



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Coming of Age, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Falling In Love, Femdom, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 14:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19465501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuzzleBlood/pseuds/GuzzleBlood
Summary: Despite her control over an entire empire, Emily can't control who she falls in love with.





	Sommelière D'Lombre

“There’s two of me,” Emily tells Corvo very seriously one evening before bed when she’s twelve years old and taking herself Very Seriously.

“There is?” Corvo asks her. He doesn’t get it but Emily knew he wouldn’t. She leans back against her headboard and flips through her sketchbook on her lap.

“Yes,” she says. “There’s the Light me and the Shadow me. I’m both of them at once.”

Corvo sits himself at the edge of her mattress and leans over to peer at the drawing she’s done of herself in her Light form. 

“See?” Emily says, holding the sketchbook out for him to look at. “This is Light me. I’m honest and righteous and obedient. I’m faithful. I listen and take care of everyone who needs my help.”

Corvo nods and his hand lifts like he wants to take the sketchbook from her hands to get a better look but Emily flips the page instead and only passes it to him afterwards. 

“Shadow me is vicious,” she tells him. “I’m quiet and I hide and I spy on people’s secrets. I hurt them when they hurt me. I don’t listen to anyone’s advice because no one knows better than I do.”

Corvo looks down at the drawing and nods and Emily sees the corner of his mouth stretch like he wants to smile. She furrows her brow. It’s not funny. 

“I’m serious,” she insists.

“I know,” Corvo says gently. “Would you not even take my advice?”

“You’re the exception, obviously,” Emily says briskly as she accepts her sketchbook back from him.

“Obviously,” Corvo agrees with a nod. 

“I’m both of them,” Emily says again, flipping the page back and forth, one self to another. “I’m always both, I’m the two of them combined as one. Whenever I don’t know the answers, one of them speaks louder than the other and I just do what that one says.” She stares Corvo right in the eyes. He doesn’t flinch at her scowl because he never has but some of the palace staff are starting to shrink back when she turns this look on them. “Which is why I had to tell snobby Lady Ederring that I wouldn’t let her stupid son court me if he was the last man on earth.”

“Shadow Emily?” Corvo guesses. He’s trying not to smile. Emily wants to scream and pound her fists into the mattress but she’s not a toddler anymore. She doesn’t throw tantrums. Emily is twelve, almost thirteen, almost a teenager, almost an adult. Adults don’t throw tantrums. They keep their anger quiet. They turn it into poison and knives. Emily _knows_ this.

“He’s _beastly_ ,” Emily insists. “He backhanded Lilah across the face when she didn’t hear him order her to clean the mess _he_ made at the spring fete. Her cheek was purple for a whole week!”

Emily’s nails bite into her palms and she snorts her exhale out sharply. Not once does Corvo look away. Even when her heart is wracking and pounding fast and hard inside her chest, he’s still there, bearing every ounce of her anger.

“I won’t even _consider_ someone who would do such a thing,” Emily tells Corvo right out. “I’d sooner die.”

Corvo nods again.

“I understand,” he says. When he smiles, he’s not mocking her. He gives her the warm, tender smile full of his love and his arms open. She goes falling into him without another thought, all of her fear that he’d ever force her to marry a person like that melting away. “You can decide all on your own,” he tells her, his big hands holding her tight to his chest as he rocks her back and forth. “When you’re ready, the choice will be yours and nobody else’s.”

“That’s right,” Emily says. Corvo laughs against her hair. 

“Though perhaps refrain from insulting the nobility’s heirs in public,” he suggests.

Then she’ll start calling private meetings and insult them where they can be spared the scandal but not the fangs of her Shadow.

At her fervent insistence, Corvo instructs Emily in the ways of his stealth after she turns thirteen. He teaches her to climb and she shreds the knees of her every pair of pants learning to jump. She blisters her palms and hisses and groans when the tender skin bursts and bleeds but then Corvo’s there, wrapping her in poultice-soaked bandages before bed and telling her, “You did well. You’re doing better every day.”

“Let me look at it,” she demands of him and he lifts an eyebrow at her because he’s been so annoying about her minding her manners even though it _shouldn’t_ matter when it’s just them. “Please,” Emily tries again. He ties the bandage and then slips the wrapping around his hand away winding, winding it around his other fist until the Mark is revealed to her. 

He puts his hand carefully in her fingers so he doesn’t end up bothering the bandages on her palms and Emily looks her fill. It doesn’t glow – it doesn’t – but sometimes she swears it does. Sometimes she looks down at the curves and strokes of it and sees the Void and it’s glittering and dark. 

“I want one of my own,” Emily says.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Corvo tells her for the thousandth time. “And if it ever so happens that you’re afforded the opportunity to choose, I would hope that you would remember my opinion before making your decision.”

“You just want me to choose what you would want for me,” Emily sighs. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand at all. “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of it being _my_ choice?”

“Not at all,” Corvo says gently. Sadly. He looks in her eyes and gives her the smile that she loves and loathes. Because he looks at her and he thinks about all of the times that he hasn’t been able to save her. He sees all the moments where he’s failed. But that’s _it_ , that’s precisely _why_. If she had a mark of her own, he wouldn’t even have to worry about that anymore. She’d be mighty. She’d be safe from everything. She’d be able to protect herself and not have to see herself reflected in his eyes and know that all Corvo can focus on is how one day he’ll die and she’ll be alone. He thinks she’s weak. 

He doesn’t get it.

“It means so much more,” he goes on to say, because her furrowed brow and scowling lips haven’t told him anything, “that you would refuse such an offer because you knew it would bring me peace of mind. Even if it meant giving up your wishes. That’s more valuable to me than anything.”

“You’re going to get more gray hairs worrying about me so much,” Emily scolds him and kneels up so she can crawl into his arms and let him hold her. It’s so obvious that’s what he wants to do, afraid to take her hands and pull her in. Well, she wants him to hold her, too. 

His arms go around her shoulders and she tucks her head under his chin and sighs. She is Shadow but she is Light, too. Problem is, both of her selves love Corvo more than anything. Both of her selves think they know better than the other.

Which leaves Emily at the disadvantage of having no good answer. She turns her face into Corvo’s chest and smells the familiar cloth-and-warmth scent of him. All of her aches rise up at once and her knees sting from being skinned and her hands are stiff from the scratches and her arms are weak from hauling up her weight onto ledges. This really sucks. But if she can’t have a Mark, then this will have to do.

Her fourteenth birthday present from Corvo is a blade. One that he had measured for her hand to grip perfectly, shining dark steel sharpened and curved elegantly. He gives it to her in private, away from the celebration balls and overdressed nobles and the mountain-high stack of gifts that literally don’t ever mean a thing to Emily in comparison. 

Especially not this year. She looks into the indigo-velvet lined box and there’s a song inside of her. Something swelling and majestic and sweet, like _yes_ , yes, this is what it means to be Empress. Here, her father, gifting her a beautiful weapon because he _trusts_ her. She’s ready.

“I love it,” Emily whispers as she gently lifts the weapon from the box and folds her fingers around the handle. It fits against her palm and she feels whole when she bears its weight and looks into her father’s smiling eyes. “Thank you!”

“We’re staring tomorrow morning,” Corvo tells her. “Every other day, first thing in the morning after warmups.”

“Every day,” Emily says and turns the sword in her hand to inspect it. It’s a short blade. Like Corvo’s. One mechanically complex that can fold away. Emily clicks the button and the smooth, perfect engineering flickers and shifts and she’s left with a compact handful of might and beauty that she can wield for herself. It’s _hers_. 

“You can decide if you want to do every day after you master the basic forms,” Corvo qualifies, handing over the matching black-and-gilded holster that accompanies her present. “Until then, you heed your swordmaster.”

“Yes, sir,” Emily says with a grin as she tucks the folded blade into its holster. She’s bursting with joy and laughter and throws her arms around Corvo’s neck to hug him tight. His arms are strong and sure and they wrap all around her while he smiles against her hair and swings her in a circle to offset the momentum of her reckless fall into him. She’s a little girl with her heels lifting into the air as she goes around and around and Corvo’s still laughing.

“Happy Birthday,” he tells her when her feet are on the ground again.

“I love you, Corvo,” she mumble-murmurs and kisses him. His hand pets the back of her head and his kiss is sweet and adoring.

“I love you too,” he says. She lets him go when his hands leave but she’d stay there longer if he never moved. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning,” he says as he retreats to her bedroom door. 

“I’ll be there before you wake up,” Emily challenges him.

“I highly doubt it, but you’re welcome to surprise me,” Corvo says. “Goodnight, my sweet fourteen-year-old girl.”

“G’night, Daddy,” she tells him. The door clicks softly when he closes it.

Emily stashes her blade under her pillow. Not the one under her head, but one nearby, where she could snatch it up and wield it if some assassin came in through the windows and tried to kill her in the night. It hasn’t happened yet. Not since Corvo restructured the palace security with innovations straight from Sokolov himself. It’s not the possibility of assassination that has her put the blade there. Just the indulgence of it. 

All eager promises of being at the training grounds as early as possible aside, Emily is too excited to sleep. She sits at her desk in her nightclothes and draws instead. She sketches rough pictures of herself in soft graphite, gesture drawings that are more dynamic than detail. Sword in hand, costumed in coats with the tails whipping back and boots dark and heavy with her sure-footed steps. 

When every fantasy has been translated to paper, she smiles to herself and flips back to earlier pages of portrait studies she’s been doing of Corvo. She’s getting better but there’s still some work she has to do…just to get his smile right.

Maybe she can convince him to sit still long enough tomorrow after they train. 

She’s masturbated every night for the past week. This always happens when she gets close to her period, without fail, her libido just shoots through the roof. She gets into bed to sleep but there’s the temptation in the back of her thoughts that goes _it’s so easy_ , and it goes _it’s so good,_ and it goes _you’ll fall right asleep after you’re done_. Which has been hard the past few months. 

Emily sits on the throne and in council meetings and presides over the court and attends the Church’s state ceremonies and people are finally seeing her as Empress and not just the little girl who happens to be occupying the throne. Things have gotten busy. She turned fifteen and four months later she cut off Lord Higganbotham who presumed to know more about trade economics than she did and Emily schooled him in the current market trends complete with numerical data and everybody in the vicinity shut their mouths and _listened_. They’ve been listening closely. Emily’s been watching just as closely.

It’s exhausting. Corvo puts his hand on her shoulders and gives her soft smiles and tells her to remember that she’s still young. Then she tells him she’ll show him young and chases him to the backstreets so they can spar. It leaves her worn out by the times she slips under the sheets but her body is alight. Her hand goes between her spread legs and she closes her eyes and licks her lips.

Emily thinks about being naked. She thinks about being on top of the sheets, stripped down to nothing and spread wide (but she doesn’t do it because it’s cold). Emily thinks about nameless-faceless nobodies that touch her and touch each other. She thinks about naked boys and naked girls and thinks about them pinning each other and rutting. Her imagination is easy to please and her clit throbs electric while she rubs it.

Not tonight, it seems. Touching herself so much (two times, even, yesterday…wait, no, three, she did it in secret under her desk after lunch, beneath the cover of her big, cherrywood desk) in so many successive days has dulled her to the usual fantasies. She’s got that telltale soreness of her breasts and hips that means that tomorrow morning she’ll be sipping painkillers and lining her panties with cotton. An orgasm will deaden the pain for now. She _needs_ it.

This time she takes her clothes off. This time she flips down the sheets and her nipples tighten while she spreads her legs. There’s a little pot of oil that she…. Well she couldn’t _buy_ it. She snuck to town…. She stole it. But she left money in its place of the same cost (she knows these things, she’s studied). It was just one of those things that she wouldn’t bring herself to ask of her servants. She’s not ready for anyone to know. The Tower is already beginning to heed her. As soon as the nobility learns that she’s so inclined, they’ll start lining up their sons and daughters to be her ‘companions.’

Whoring out their heirs. Slipping through whatever cracks they can find. Just thinking of it makes Emily want to bare her teeth and snap and gnash and make them _scream_.

She’s not their stepping stool. She’s their ruler. Sometimes she wants to be the monster on the throne. Sometimes she just wants someone to touch her that won’t ask her for anything afterwards. Sometimes she’s sure there isn’t a person who exists in the world who would.

Emily slicks her fingers and opens her knees and spreads her labia with one hand so she can circle her clit. The slide of the oil makes her jolt with a shiver and she closes her eyes to the dark. It takes a long while – almost a whole hour – but she steadily works herself up and comes beneath her flicking fingertips while she thinks about a cock sliding into her and a kiss over her lips and big, strong arms wrapping her up and promising her that she can make her own choices.

She knows when she’s sixteen. She _knows_. She’s never known anything more true and right. Knows it when Corvo holds her hand and knows it when he smiles at her and knows it when she knocks him on his back for the first time and holds her sword to his throat and he just beams at her. 

“Wow!” he says, breathless and a little squeaky and she coughs a laugh at him and catches her breath and he hits his head a little on the ground when he lays back to surrender. “That was fantastic, Em.”

“I got you,” she says with a smile and only after she’s memorized the feeling of her thighs spread over his stomach does she slide off of him and pull him to sit up next to her.

“You sure did,” Corvo laughs and rubs the dust off the back of his head. 

“Good enough to earn a reward, I definitely think,” she says with a coy grin as she folds away her blade and tucks it back. 

“Oh, is that what this is now?” Corvo prods her. “Not training time anymore, no, it’s a competition to show up your old man and leverage me for favors.”

“I could ask outside the sparring matches," Emily says with a shrug, “but you’re easier to sway when you have good cause.”

Corvo chuckles and runs his hand through his hair, slumping to prop his chin on the heel of his hand.

“You’ve become quite the adept strategist,” he compliments her.

“Master Manipulator,” she translates for him and he furrows his brow at her. “I know, that’s not what you said,” Emily cuts him off. “But the conniving connotation doesn’t bother me. I am what I am. I’m good and bad and I can use my talents for good and bad. Just like anyone else.”

Corvo undoes the first few buttons of his vest because it’s a hot, sludgy evening and Emily would gladly undo the rest of them for him. She gives herself one single second to look at the dampness of his chest and the dark hair peeking out then entreats him again.

“Please?”

“Well, tell me what it is you want first, goofball,” he says.

“Help me make a shrine,” Emily tells him quietly. There’s no one who comes here. No one at all. But she keeps her voice as low as she can. Corvo’s eyes are hard as chips of steel. “One for us both.”

“For _what_?” he asks. Emily scowls at him.

“For gratitude,” she says. “For the good and bad we both are capable of. For _that_.”

The softening in his features means she’s gotten through. Finally. There’s been years of her fighting and pulling and railing and snarling against all the factors that have decided on her behalf and trying to tell Corvo this whole time…. Sometimes it was like trying to tell a mirror what it should really be showing. This he understands. This he knows without her having to elaborate. She sees it in the way his shoulders gentle and his eyes haze with past and future.

“Alright,” he agrees. “I’ll help you. We’ll put it in the saferoom.”

Because only the two of them can get in and out. It’s perfect. 

They build the shrine together and drape it in the loveliest of indigo silks. Nights alone, Emily locks herself in the saferoom and sits in front of it and thinks about the love in her heart. Thinks about how it’s capable of good and bad. Thinks how she gets to make the choice for herself. Thinks about how maybe she’ll have to give up her desires just to make sure Corvo is happy and safe and secure, kept carefully away from the Shadow that wants to wrap around him and _keep_. 

Light loves him too. All of her loves him. She can love him either way. She wants to love him in every way.

War rises up the eve before the Fugue Feast in Emily’s seventeenth year. Which puts a damper on her plans. It was the one time, the one excuse she would have to try and lure and convince Corvo. Just once…. Just a kiss, she was going to beg him for it. It wouldn’t have been enough but she would’ve told herself it would be. Convinced her heart that it would be enough to last her for the rest of her life. She could keep it in her heart and have it sustain her until the end of her days. 

He would’ve done it, too. Her silence in the upleading months had Corvo looking after her forlornly, asking to be let in and her quiet smiles kept him distant. He’d ask to be let in, she’d hold him at arm’s length. Maybe it makes her a master manipulator. Maybe it makes her a bad person, a terrible daughter. 

It doesn’t much matter now. The Empire of the Isles is at the mouth of a beast. Griystein did not approach with ambassadors or diplomats or even soldiers. It came with a fleet of warships flying bloodred flags and Emily stands at the apex of the Tower, staring out to the shores with her blade in hand and her heart swollen in her throat. 

Corvo is there at her side, waiting in silence, older than she’d ever seen him. While he could be staring at the horizon and the oncoming threat – their cannons pointed aloft – he only looks to her, waiting. Mourning. In his eyes, all his worry fills him up. Emily grits her teeth against it.

“We’re going,” she tells him in a growl and storms past him. He follows. Even though she’s boarded up herself from him – out of fear, out of anguish and a desire too great to be held back by her closed mouth and the cage of her own ribs around her heart – he doesn’t ask questions. He trusts her. He trusts her choices. He knows that she’ll never lead him astray. 

Emily would shriek in despair if she weren’t so scalding with fury. 

She finds her gold and black scarf. She puts Corvo’s mask in his hands.

“We’re going,” she tells him again, looking straight into his eyes and hoping to hell that he can hear her. When he looks down at her hand and sees the Mark…. His eyes widen and he looks back to her but she only has conviction for him. “Don’t think I didn’t hear you,” she says. “Don’t think I chose lightly.”

“I have never thought that,” Corvo says. His eyes don't leave hers even as he fits the mask over his face. She tugs up her scarf. 

“With me,” she says. They go.

In the end, there’s never a formal retaliation. There’s never a surrender. There’s never an actual war. There’s a whole host of explosions on the horizon and a sea full of shipwrecks far out of their ports. Before all of that, there’s Emily standing on the deck of the mothership, at the head of the fleet with her Marked hand around the throat of the Prince of Griystein and her blade through his eyesocket. The fleet is burning. Emily is incandescent with flame and bloodlust.

She drops the corpse onto the deck and snatches the finery from his military jacket so she has the proof she needs. Might have to display it to allies or enemies. For whatever reason. She doesn’t know. There’s blood all over her hands and her clothes. She can smell it through the fabric wrapped around her face. She’s bruised up and singed.

Corvo Blinks into existence next to her and she pulls down the mask around her face, grabs his lapels and kisses his mask. With her tongue. Eyes closed. Burning all around her, ships sinking, blood and screaming, listening only to his gasp and feeling his fleet heartbeat against her chest. Her tongue tastes the sharp, sour metal of the copper strung between the halves. His breath is so close; it floods her open mouth.

Emily steps back and scrapes her teeth over her bottom lip as she pulls the scarf back up.

“Let’s go home,” she says, not taking her eyes off him for a moment. His only answer is a nod. He follows her all the way back to the Tower but not to her bedroom. She locks the door. She sheds everything. She touches herself beneath the bloodied water in her bathtub and her orgasm isn’t nearly as gratifying when she cries as soon as it’s over.

“There’s two of me,” Emily tells Corvo very quietly one evening when she’s eighteen years old and tired of herself. She sits with him on the couch in their saferoom with a glass of wine in her hand and dark circles under her eyes, staring fixedly at the carved whalebone that she’s left on the shrine. “A me that knows nothing and wallows in my ignorance and a me that knows nothing but likes to pretend that whatever decision I make is right anyway.”

The silence is so heavy on all of her that Emily thinks she might be smothered beneath it. She can’t look at her father. She can only stare into her wine.

“I rule the whole empire but you’re the only one I don’t want to disappoint,” she whispers, broken. “That’s always been it.”

“You say that like I’m not trying not to disappoint you, in turn,” Corvo says with a little twist of a smile on his lips. He’s tired, too. They both are. The efforts to colonize Griystein have been taxing and tireless and they haven’t sat down to talk for longer than fifteen minutes since the barrage. It’s gone down in history now. The secret….

Since it took place within the bounds of the Fugue, the dalliance of the Void that Emily and Corvo both displayed in order to save the Empire from being overrun was deemed to fall into the yearly blindspot of heretical behavior. The Church is still around but about as powerful and intimidating as a beast with no teeth or claws. The wealth has been outpouring. The whole Empire flourishes.

Emily smiles over her subjects and lets her heart be steadily hollowed from the inside with each passing day, hating and loving these strangers she rules. Hating and loving her power to bring about this era of magnificence. Loving Corvo and hating herself for it. 

He took her here in the middle of the night, woke her up from her sleep to bring her into the saferoom and then lock them inside of it with a bottle of wine.

“You were beautiful, you know, that day,” Corvo says. Emily looks up at him. Her stomach feels sick. It’s the lack of sleep and the tenderness in his smile. “You’re always beautiful. The barrage, though, when I saw you with your blade in hand, executing the prince…. I was overwhelmed, Em.”

“Me too,” Emily says and looks down at her knees. For an entirely different reason. Her veins pulsed with so much adrenaline and spite, she could’ve spit acid and eaten that man for daring to come close to her and everything that belonged to her. “I want to be proud of that moment. Every time I think about it, I have a hard time being anything but manic over the whole thing. I was giddy. I was pleased with myself. I was hoping you’d see that you didn’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“Love always makes you fear, sweetheart,” Corvo tells her. Tears squeeze out of Emily’s eyes when she clenches them shut.

“Yeah, I know,” her voice cracks. “I’ve never been so scared before in my life.” Every day. Every single day since the day she’s known. Since she was sixteen and her nighttime fantasies started featuring Corvo and Corvo alone. Since she warred with herself over shame and indulgence and paranoia and unadulterated joy. Fear has been there all along, turning her guts and trembling in her hands and it found a great outlet in the blade running through all those bodies. Emily was not afraid when she killed the prince and kissed the man she loved the way she’d dreamed of. Not then, but afterwards, when she was alone. Still alone.

Corvo pulls Emily close and she drops her wine on the floor and buries herself, sobbing, into his chest, like she hasn’t in years. She weeps and wails and he holds her the whole time. Never asks any questions, never tries to get her to talk. Corvo cradles her and kisses her hair and tells her it’s going to be okay. He tells her he loves her and he always will and nothing in the world will ever change that.

“You’ll always be my sweet little girl,” he says when her tears have dried up and she’s just numb and warm from his arms. “Always.”

That has to be enough. It has to be. Emily closes her eyes when more tears well up because she knows it won’t be enough, not for her. Not anymore.

Emily calls an audience in the grandest ballroom of the Tower. Every member of the nobility, she gives them one day to prepare and then stands before them on the Empress’ dais with Corvo at her side, hands folded behind his back placidly. He already knows. She wanted to tell him before she told anyone else. Though she couldn’t stand to linger a moment after to see his face. She turned her back and he said, “I have faith in your decision,” like she could decree to burn the whole world and he’d be there with the first barrel of oil and a readied flint.

Now she stands in front of the whole of her court and tells them in no short terms that she will be taking her consort after this year. The whole nobility goes into a bustle and they all flutter out of the hall; their frantic voices and restlessness is hushed as the ballroom empties. 

Emily lets out a long, shaking sigh. Corvo touches her elbow and she startles, turning towards him with her eyes wide and weary.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s walk.”

They run. Across rooftops and through the back alleys and Corvo somehow keeps ahead of her the entire time even though she’s been swifter than him on foot for years, she thought. Chasing his back puts a hunger inside of her and she goes for her blade without thinking of it, breathing hard, sweating under her clothes. 

They cross their swords in the damp, dark alleyways of their usual training ground. The ringing of metal on metal is a lullaby to Emily’s frenzied heart and when their blades clash and grind, she feels whole again. It’s been too long. She’s been out of touch. Even so, it doesn’t keep her from dredging up every last bit of her ferocity and roaring at Corvo. She sweeps his feet out from under him and knocks him to his back and puts her sword to his neck.

She’s pulled this move on him more times than she can count, whether in practice or in honest skill. This time, he snags her by the wrist, pulls her hand away and then yanks her forward until he’s kissing her mouth. Heavy, ferocious, moaning against her lips with the taste of sweat between them. 

Emily’s surprise is muffled against Corvo’s mouth and she drops her sword so she can wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him back as hard as she fights him. She clamps her knees to his sides and heaves her whole body against the length of his, pressing close as she can possibly get. 

“Em,” Corvo pants against her lips. He grips her like she’ll go Blinking into the Void if he gives her even a little bit of leeway. She clings back just as tightly, doesn’t let herself speak, just sucks on his tongue and nibbles at his lips for so long that she can’t discern when her heart gave up on the chase and decided to have her cry all over Corvo’s face instead. She sobs as she clutches his jaw and grinds her hips down. Can’t bring herself to say a coherent word but somehow she doesn’t need to. Corvo kisses her slow and deep and with all the compassion of a father and all the ardor of a lover.

She doesn’t have to ask. He just understands. 

“I’m sorry,” she eventually finds it in her to say, her nose rubbing against his and panicked kisses following the words out because she might never have this again. 

“I am, too,” he tells her. One arm around her shoulders, one hand stroking down her back until it curves around the back of her thigh, right beneath the curve of her ass. The gasp in her throat is as light and lofty as a note from a flute. “I’ve exhausted all of my good sense.”

“I never had any to begin with,” Emily insists, desperately, and slides her hands underneath his shirt so she can touch his bare chest to her heart’s content.

“I had thought, I’d always hoped…,” he shivers against her lips. 

“You never said anything!” Emily says.

“How could I?”

For all her protests, she understands, of course. She plants her palms firmly against Corvo’s sweat-damp skin and pushes herself up to look down at him, shuddering all over, tearful and flushed and quaking in relief.

“Can we go home?” she asks him. “And still have this?”

He’s so beautiful. His hands hold her hips and Emily knows he’s always loved her but his love _answers_ all of the creeping Shadow greed that’s poisoned her so sweetly for so long. 

“For as long as you’ll have me,” Corvo vows to her. She seals that promise with another kiss. Her heartbeat knocks against his sternum and she can feel his pulse like a drumbeat in her breasts.

Corvo doesn’t celebrate his birthday publicly but still gets well-wishes and a few modest gifts from important aristocracy. From Emily, his fiftieth birthday is commemorated with her body laced up in ribbons and corset ribbing and her slender stockinged-feet stroking against the tension in his thighs.

She rather thinks that her presents will always be his favorite, if he’d ever bother with an inventory. He’s pretty with a blindfold on, she also thinks. Pretty on his knees with his eyes covered and his cock pointing straight up at his muscled, hairy stomach.

“This never gets old,” Emily says, smiling wide and pushing her hips to the edge of the bed. She spreads her cunt and wraps her ankles around Corvo’s shoulders and tugs him in closer and closer until she can feel his breath against her lips. “Wait,” she orders him. Not that he was lunging for her or anything. His hands are obediently held behind his back because she told him to keep them there. He’s patient with her. Always patient, always waiting, always happy to just accept whatever she decides to give him. 

Emily listens to him draw slow, steady breaths and wonders if the smell of her sex makes his mouth water. She runs her hands through his hair, adoring, and settles her thighs over his shoulders, crossing her ankles at his back. 

“Go on, now,” she says, her cheeks pink with delight. Corvo lets out a broken breath of relief and his tongue slips right into her hole. “Mmh,” Emily sighs, clutching his head as he laps at her cum. “That’s good, Corvo, give me more.”

His nose nudges up against her clit, whiskers scratching her labia not unpleasantly while he drinks from her cunt like it’ll sate his hunger forever. Emily licks her lips and moans and ruts against her father’s face with her lust twisting hot between her hips. He’s a vision, framed by the lace of her thigh-highs on either side of his head. His breath rushes over her with every fervent exhale because she’s holding him captive between her legs with barely enough air to keep him. 

She’d feel guilty about it if he didn’t love it so much. Instead, she feels greedy: happily selfish. She’s twitching and gasping and touching Corvo with her entire body, delighting in his mouth as he suckles on her clit and moans low, vibrating hums against the pink and sensitive flesh of her. 

“Stop, stop,” Emily gasps, shifting to put the arch of her foot over Corvo’s clavicle and she pushes at him until he sits back on his heels. Shivering, she laughs and scratches her fingernails along his scalp. “That’s enough of that for now.”

“Never enough,” Corvo pants roughly. His lips are pinked and his mouth is wet all over. Emily lets her legs from off his shoulders entirely and tugs him up by his arm until he’s climbing over her. 

“There’s plenty,” Emily tells him as she pushes herself backwards and Corvo crawls blindly (but comfortably) after her. “Touch me, Corvo, put your hands on me.” He does, reaching straight for her hips so that he can hold her fast and lean in to kiss her. 

With his eyes covered, he leans in carefully and finds her jaw, first. Kisses down the length of her neck and around to her ear. He whispers her name and takes her earlobe between his lips, just a stroke of his mouth, before he trails kisses all the way back to her mouth. Her taste is on his tongue; Emily moans and bucks up her hips, her pubic bone rubbing against his stomach as she sucks the flavor of her cum off of him. 

Corvo’s cock is burning hot and stiff against her hip. Emily digs her fingernails into his shoulders and breaks away to moan eagerly against the scruff of his beard. 

“Impatient,” Corvo grunts as his hands stroke up her bodice to squeeze her exposed breasts. Emily arches her back and his mouth goes straight to her nipple. 

“So are you,” Emily tells him between her breathless cries of pleasure. She puts her hand between her legs and plunges two fingers straight into her wet-and-wanting hole, the back of her wrist nudging up against Corvo’s balls while he laps his way back up to her mouth. “Do it already,” Emily breathes against his mouth, “I want that cock, give it to me.”

“I want to see you,” Corvo begs her. “Please…. Let me look at you, please, please, Em….”

Emily pushes herself up on her elbows and kisses Corvo’s lips as she tugs the gold-patterned silk from his eyes. He stills to blink a few times but when he looks down and finds her gaze, his smile is full of relief and delight. 

“Inside me,” Emily commands him softly and she puts her wet fingers around his cock and very carefully tugs him closer. The heat of him parts her folds and stretches her right at the rim. Her eyelids flutter at the feeling. “Come on, come on, fuck me, Corvo.” His hands go around her hips again and he pulls her flush to his body, filling her up in one practiced stroke. “Oh!”

He’s so big…. His cock is thick and hot and perfect. Fits inside of her like he was made for her and just thinking that has Emily cooing in pleasure. She gyrates her hips a little and looks down to where they connect, where their pubic hair rubs up together. Their sex is so unbelievably delicious; she gets to have this perfection every single time.

“Emily,” Corvo exhales raggedly. His hips jolt and his shoulders shake and Emily wets her lips and shifts on his dick. 

Emily hitches her thighs over his hips and starts to fuck herself in earnest on his cock until Corvo gets the idea and pins her down. His pace is wonderfully ruthless. Emily’s mouth falls open and every breath outwards is just a moan of eager pleasure. 

“Yes,” she cries. “Oh…! Oh, more Corvo, more!”

His growl of exertion just tells her that he’s making sure to keep a rhythm that will please her. Emily puts her fingers on her clit and rubs in tight, slick circles. She gets the perfect angle that has her stroking a sweet spot of nerves and her hips undulate and buck without her being able to help it. Her father fucks her, his breath falling on her face in hot, desperate pants while Emily bites on her lip, her thighs sweating against his waist.

She doesn’t warn him that she’s going to come. Her whole back arches and she screams, her cunt contracting around his perfect cock over and over again while he strokes her clit and her vision blacks out. It’s just _so good_.

“Em!” he groans. His hands slap sharply against her ass while he fucks her frantically. Emily jolts with aftershocks when he comes inside of her, shuddering hard as her pussy squeezes sporadically and milks every drop she can get. Emily opens her mouth to catch her breath. Her throat is dry but her whole body is warm and covered by Corvo’s. Their heartbeats are rioting together. Emily closes her eyes and delights in the feeling of Corvo’s chest – his stomach – pushing against her naked body as they both come down together. His cock is softening inside of her, though she locks her ankles behind his hips to keep him there as long as possible.

His kisses are planted all along the sweat at her hairline. Emily sighs and hums happily, nuzzling against her father’s neck while he gives her his love, murmuring _I love you_ s as he leaves each new kiss behind. 

The afterglow they spend trading hickeys on one another’s throats and chests. Emily licks Corvo’s nipple while she idly strokes his flaccid cock and waits for his refractory period to be over because even though it’s Corvo’s birthday, _she’s_ the one with the insatiable appetite. She squats over his face and he eagerly licks up his own cum as it drips from her hole. He tears runs in her stockings, eating her out again and making her squirt all over his face with moans that border on sounding agonized with how sharp they are.

“You devious bastard,” Emily curses him as her legs are utterly useless and he falls over while he just laughs, breathless, and wipes himself off with the blankets. 

“I thought you liked those,” he says as she lays on her side and tries to match her soul to her body again after he so thoroughly tugged it away from her. She’s so dizzy….

“Like it better with your cock in me,” Emily pants. “More, come on, put it back in.”

“Already?” Corvo laughs, spooning himself up behind her. 

“You’re hard,” Emily reasons. 

“You’re exhausted.” Corvo buries his face in her long, undone hair and wraps his arms around her to hold her all along the length of his body.

“No, _you’re_ exhausted,” Emily says with a smile. She lifts up her leg and throws it over Corvo’s thigh, reaching between her legs to take Corvo’s cock and slip it right up inside of her. “Mmmmh, yes, that’s better…. Just keep it nice and warm there.”

“Is that an order, Your Majesty?” Corvo asks. He’s full of soft sighs and laughter. Emily can feel him flushed pink against her back and she rolls her hips a few times to make him gasp behind her ear. God, she’ll never get tired of that feeling: the feeling of his big, heavy dick rubbing nice and snug against her g-spot. She’s shivering a little from that full-body orgasm he just gave her but there’s nothing like being full of him. 

“Be a good boy and stay right where I want you,” Emily sighs as she turns back onto her side proper. Comfortable, with Corvo’s dick tucked up all the way inside, the tip kissing at her cervix. She closes her eyes. Delights in the heat of him as her sweat cools and his lips rub – his whiskers scratch – adoringly at the nape of her neck. 

“I love you, Em,” Corvo tells her. His dick twitches in the grip of her cunt. 

“I love you too, Daddy,” she sighs, smiling against her pillow. “Happy birthday.” 

Corvo chuckles and starts to roll his hips nice and slow. 

“Happy birthday indeed,” he says, low and rumbling with satisfaction.

She has another birthday present for him, too. But she’ll wait a little longer to tell him about it. His hands rest possessively over her belly and she thinks he might know that particular surprise anyway.


End file.
